


Well Dressed Monsters

by killalla



Category: Laundry - Charles Stross, Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Lovecraftian, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killalla/pseuds/killalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are spies like us. <br/>Spoilers for the Laundry Series through The Apocalypse Codex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Dressed Monsters

“Welcome to Mahogany Row, Mr. Howard. And may whichever god you choose to believe in have mercy on your soul.”

With those words, I was summarily condemned to a lifetime sentence in middle management at the Laundry, for as short a period as that lifetime is going to be. Considering that CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN is already upon us, and the stars are going to come right any day now, it’s not the most hopeful of occupational outlooks.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. 

The name is Howard, Bob Howard. I’m a computational demonologist by trade, and I work for a so-secret-no-one-knows-about-it branch of the British government colloquially known as the Laundry. We specialize in protecting England from the scum of the multiverse, a mission which is complicated by the fact that what is popularly referred to as magic is essentially an esotetic form of applied mathematics, and the combination of exponential population growth and technological change with a Transient Weak Anomaly and the Observer Effect is going to bring about the end of the world, oh, any day now.

As a job, it’s unfortunately not as glamorous as one might think. In my particular case, it means that despite the recent promotion, I was still serving in the interim as Executive Assistant to DSS Angleton (ostensibly his title is Detached Special Secretary, but office wisdom suggests it’s actually an acronym for Deeply Scary Sorcerer – which he undoubtedly is). What this meant in practice, as far as I could tell, was that I remained a general henchman, errand runner, and office whipping boy (Subtype: IT Officer), it’s just that now I was also entrusted with extraordinary and unpleasant special projects, like special protocol meetings. It was for one of these that Angleton appeared in my office late on a Friday afternoon, just as I was preparing to slope off early to meet Pinky and the Brain down at the pub.

“There you are, Bob. Excellent, follow me. We’ve had an unexpected visit from the cousins.” He turned on his heel and started down one of the extra hallways, which I’ve recently discovered exist only off of Mahogany Row, at strange non-Euclidian angles of geometry, if you know what I mean. Such are the perks of promotion in the Laundry. 

“Hang on a minute, boss – do you mean The Black Chamber? Because I thought we were going to take a long spoon approach to them.” Considering some of my recent escapades in Denver, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to crossing paths with the Nazgûl anytime soon. True, they hadn’t treated me especially badly, and refrained from applying a sleeper agent whammy to my undefended brain, but the thought that they could have was still a little discomforting.

“Our special guests are Americans, and they are affiliated with the Operational Phenomenology Agency, but when I say cousins, I mean more of a cousin of mine.” Angleton was looking vaguely amused, and that was never a good sign. 

“A cousin of yours? You mean, like a “cousin” cousin?” I refrained from making air quotes, because that sort of thing annoys him. And here’s the thing – as the events surrounding the affair with of the Fuller Memorandum revealed; Angleton isn’t exactly human. In fact, he’s hardly human at all, being the vessel for the ancient evil known as the Eater of Souls, so anything related to Angleton…. Well, damn.

“Think of it this way, Bob. Someone had to design and build the All Seeing Eye, and chain Control at its bloody beating heart. And considering the size of the operation, it shouldn’t be surprising that the Americans may have needed some outside assistance in the process.” We’d been winding our way through the hallways, and were now at the entrance to a conference room that I can only assume was still part of the New Annex, although it was warded far more elaborately than usual – in addition to the standard Langford Death Parrot and Angleton’s signature Screaming Mind, there was an Azure Flame, what looked like a Shudde M’ell, and something else I’d never seen before. 

“Ah, here we are then.” Angleton opened the door. “Bob, may I introduce Mr. Harold Finch, Deputy Undersecretary of the Operational Phenomenology Agency? You might -” and this was almost a smile “want to call him Sauron.”

Being used to Angleton – tall, dry, chilly, cadaverous, hasn’t aged a day over fifty in the last sixty-five years – I could immediately note the signs of incarnation. Harold Finch was short, bespectacled, dapper and rather unassuming – until you noticed the way he moved, awkward and stilted as though he’d survived some kind of massive spinal injury, or caught a glimpse of his eyes, which gleamed with the same kind of cold brutality that Angleton’s did when you had to tell him that some poor schmuck had failed the paper clip audit.

“Dr. Angleton, Mr. Howard.” Finch didn’t stand, but shifted his chair around to face us. He lifted a hand and waved slightly towards the corner. “My associate, Mr. Reese.” I jumped slightly and managed not to yelp as a figure suddenly loomed up out of the non-existent shadows to stand behind Finch. Considering that said figure looked to be over six feet tall and combat trained, it was a little surprising that he’d just appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’d offer a beverage, abut I know you don’t drink proper tea, so we’d probably best get down to business.” Angleton had seated himself across from Finch. I felt vaguely that I should remain standing, since Finch’s Man In Black was doing so, although if it was going to come down to assistant v. assistant, I was toast – as I keep reminding Management, I’m the IT guy, not a superspy.

“We’ve had a report of a level five incursion, centered on one of the Channel Islands, specifically Alderny.” Finch placed a file on the table and then adjusted his glasses along the bridge of his nose. “Pursuant to the Treaty of Carcosa and AGATE STAR CITADEL I’ve come to oversee the matter. Mr. Reese will handle it – I merely thought I’d inform you, as a courtesy. ”

For once, Angleton looked nonplussed. “I hadn’t heard anything of this.”

“Our intelligence is good - verified by the All Seeing Eye. And seeing as we’ve been consistently cooperative in letting you clean up your own little problems on our shores, this is one time that you’re going to step back and let us do our job.” Finch’s voice had just an edge of command in it, and I’d never heard anyone try that tone on Angleton. Before I’d realized it, I’d already taken an unconscious half-step back, anticipating that the fireworks were about to start.

“I’m not questioning you; I’m just saying I haven’t heard anything of it, at least not yet.” Angleton’s voice was deceptively mild, but he was quite definitely annoyed. “I’ll assign Bob here as your liaison, and he’ll get you whatever you need. You know I’ve had my reservations about the Eye, but I’ve never doubted the accuracy of its conclusions. It’s simply that, BLUE MAGINOT STARS and SCORPION STARE notwithstanding, I’m uncomfortable with that level of interference and oversight. We exist to protect the populace, not police them.”

“Dr. Angleton, The Laundry controls one of the finest magically augmented surveillance networks on the planet, and if you’d consider making adequate use of the technology you possess instead of keeping it as a Plan B and sticking to your antiquated microfiche reader, you might stand a chance of survival when the situation becomes critical.” Finch’s irritation was evident, as was the disturbing fact that he clearly knew a lot about Laundry operations, especially for an ostensible outsider.

“I’ve explained the reasoning behind the Memex in the past – aside from being esoteric enough that no-one touches my files, without permission, it’s useful for countering Van Eck phreaking.” I had honestly never seen Angleton this exercised over anything before. 

“Which should be unnecessary, assuming your vaunted Tempest shielding is any good.” Okay, this guy was playing dirty, and definitely had some kind of inside information as well. I was already dreading the debrief that would need to follow this meeting.

“You will recall that the shield protects from outside surveillance, but not from that within the perimeter. Although considering recent events, I should expect a lack of rigorous counterintelligence protocols from your side of the pond. All offence, no defense – but I suppose that’s usual for the Black Chamber.” Angleton wasn’t pulling any punches, either.

“The best defense is a strong offence.” I was seriously beginning to wonder if this was going to come to blows, or a sorcerous duel or something.

“I’m also not inclined to give much credence to the criticisms of someone who drinks that dreadful mixture of flower bud and floor shavings while calling it tea.” And there it was – Angleton was calling him out. Never mess with an Englishman on the subject of tea.

“Touché.” And then, as if there was some kind of signal that I clearly missed, all the tension went out of the room.

“Harold.”

“James.”

First names!?

“It’s so good to see you.” Handshakes and shoulder slaps all around, apparently.

“You’re looking well, old man.”

“And you. Where are you staying?”

“At the Diogenes, of course.” 

“Naturally, I should have guessed. But you’ll come over for dinner and chess this evening? (Pick up your chin of the floor, Bob, I may not need to eat, but I do find it enjoyable on occasion.)” Honestly, I was more boggling over the thought that the boss had a house or apartment or – something. After the thing with my former line manager and the Black Brotherhood, I’d been fairly convinced that Angleton either disembodied when he was off duty, or managed to live somewhere in the attic of the New Annex.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world – it’s been far too long. Oh, and I nearly forgot – I brought a little something that I thought you might appreciate – an early print copy of the Liber Ivonis.” Finch gestured, and his bodyguard/minder handed him a dusty leather bound gold embossed tome. (At least, I hoped it was leather…) 

“That’s very kind. You’ll spoil me.” Angleton chuckled. I had to suppress a shudder. It was only the second time I’d heard him laugh, and it’s not a nice sound. 

“John.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here’s the key.” Rather than the ubiquitous piece of hotel plastic, Finch tossed an ornate old fashioned sliver key, which his associate deftly plucked out of the air. “I’m assuming Mr. Howard can help you with any preparations you need. Considering the way James plays chess, I’d advise you not to wait up - it may be a very long game. ”

The Man in Black loomed into existence next to me again. It must be a talent of his. He looked oddly pleased, but ever so slightly perturbed. “I should go with him, to keep an eye on things.” He murmured. “But then, I suppose Dr. Angleton can assist if there are any problems.”

In unison, we turned to watch them leave - Angleton bone dry and stick thin, Finch all brittle twisted angles and his slight limp. 

“Yeah, I have a feeling those two are probably a lot scarier than anything else they could encounter this side of the apocalypse.” I gave him the side-eye. “So, I know my boss is sometimes named as the Eater of Souls, and yours is something similar, I guess?”

“They call him the watcher with ten thousand eyes, the listener with a million ears. He created Control in his own image, and he’s been guarding our borders for a long time now.” And now there was really no mistaking the pride and reverence in his voice.

“Ah – I see.” Oh dear. I mean, it’s true they’ve got a significant landmass, distributed population, and distressingly permeable borders, but if the Americans have been trafficking with that level of divine/infernal power for so long, it was no wonder that they’d been willing to risk waking the Sleeper in the Pyramid – they’d clearly been long prepared for a worst case scenario.

“But we shouldn’t really worry, in any case.” The man – Jack? Jim? – was carefully tucking the sliver key into a jacket pocket. “They’ll be back before midnight – Harold usually likes to get to bed early.” 

“Oh, I’m not worried,” I started, and then did a double take. Naturally my brain hadn’t quite caught up with my mouth. “I’m married!” I blurted, before I could help myself. “Angleton’s just my boss, I mean, I’m not, we’re not…” Well, yes, it’s true that under certain unusual circumstances we’ve been possessed by the same eldritch inter-dimensional entity but it’s not like we’re *dating* or anything.

“…like us.” He finished. “No, I suppose there aren’t many like us.” I was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that unlike pretty much every Black Chamber operative I’d ever met, this guy wasn’t dominated up to his eyeballs.

Summon a monster from out of space time. Bind it in a human form and set it to fight other, bigger scarier monsters on your behalf. Oh, it will work for a while, until the geas runs out of juice, but if you want to make it stick, you’re going to have to do something else. In the case of the Laundry, they sent him to a good English public school, where he learned a love of fair play, cricket, and a good cup of tea. It’s a traditional form of indoctrination that has worked of generations of silver haired bureaucrats, so it’s not that surprising in retrospect that it worked on Angleton. The Black Chamber asks for a lot more from their monster, so they had to offer more in return. 

“A partner, an anchor, a willing sacrifice.” The Man in Black caught my eye, and it was clear that he’d been following my train of thought this whole time. He pulled back his sleeve. As I’d already begun to suspect, he had no Dark Mark. “No oath, no binding. I serve as freely and without coercion.”

I gulped. “It’s pretty rare, in our business." I mean, even I was bound by my Oath of Office, and that had singed my eyebrows on more than one occasion. "It must have been a difficult choice.” Especially considering what willing service to a creature of that sort might entail. 

“Not really. The Agency burned me, and I was on the run from my own people when The Black Chamber found me. If it weren’t for Finch, I’d probably be dead now.” He smiled then, and most strange of all, he seemed genuinely happy.

We ask a lot of our monsters. We distrust them and fear them, but at the same time we ask them to do what we cannot, to protect us from things we cannot face, that we can barely even comprehend. CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN is coming, if it isn’t here already. And then all we can really do is pray (in a secular, humanist fashion) that we’ve given them enough of a reason to stay and to fight with us until the stars go cold and we reach the end of all things. 

But, there’s no reason to get down about it. “Anyway, we’d better get going, Mr. …”

“Reese. John Reese.”

“Right. I can show you what resources we have available in Q Division, and then you’re welcome to join me and lads down at the pub once you’re finished.” I was never going to remember his name. I thought of calling him Angmar, but you have to draw a line somewhere.


End file.
